William Shakespeare (1564--1616) Sonnet 1.From fairest creatures we desire increase From fairest creatures we desire increase, That thereby beauty's rose might never die, But as the riper should by time decease, His tender heir might bear his memory: But thou contracted to thine own bright eyes, Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel, Making a famine where abundance lies, Thy self thy foe,to thy sweet self too cruel: Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament, And only herald to the gaudy spring, Within thine own bud buriest thy content, And,tender churl,mak'st waste in niggarding: Pity the world,or else this glutton be, To eat the world's due,by the grave and thee. Sonnet 31.Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts, Which I by lacking have supposed dead; And there reigns Love,and all Love's loving parts, And all those friends which I thought buried. How many a holy and obsequious tear Hath dear religious love stol'n from mine eye, As interest of the dead,which now appear But things removed that hidden in thee lie! Thou art the grave where buried love doth live, Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone, Who all their parts of me to thee did give, That due of many now is thine alone: Their images I loved,I view in thee, And thou (all they)hast all the all of me. Sonnet 62.Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye And all my soul,and all my every part; And for this sin there is no remedy,William Shakespeare (1564--1616) Sonnet 1. From fairest creatures we desire increase From fairest creatures we desire increase, That thereby beauty's rose might never die, But as the riper should by time decease, His tender heir might bear his memory: But thou contracted to thine own bright eyes, Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel, Making a famine where abundance lies, Thy self thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel: Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament, And only herald to the gaudy spring, Within thine own bud buriest thy content, And, tender churl, mak'st waste in niggarding: Pity the world, or else this glutton be, To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee. Sonnet 31. Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts, Which I by lacking have supposed dead; And there reigns Love, and all Love's loving parts, And all those friends which I thought buried. How many a holy and obsequious tear Hath dear religious love stol'n from mine eye, As interest of the dead, which now appear But things removed that hidden in thee lie! Thou art the grave where buried love doth live, Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone, Who all their parts of me to thee did give, That due of many now is thine alone: Their images I loved, I view in thee, And thou (all they) hast all the all of me. Sonnet 62. Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye And all my soul, and all my every part; And for this sin there is no remedy